Queen of Ashes
by SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Written for the Dragon Age Reddit Weekly Writing Prompt: "Can you face yourself in the mirror?" Anora Mac Tir is confronted by Gwyneth Surana six months after the end of the Blight.


Anora Mac Tir held her head high, even as the Chantry bells rang out the official marriage and coronation of the false king and his queen. The real wedding had been one short month ago. Even though Erlina was the only one present to benefit from her display of queenly dignity, she felt the need to maintain it. Soon, surely, the people would rise up and save her from her prison in Fort Drakon. The bastard had to be keeping down riots against his rule as it was, because the people loved her. Once she was back on her throne, she would hack that bastard's head off herself, and then lock his wife up here in these rooms. His slut would be stripped of her command and her arling before being sent to the worst Circle Anora could find, after being made Tranquil. She was her father's daughter, and she would ensure that any chance of a counter-rebellion against her rule was quashed in its cradle.

Faintly, the locks on the door clicked open, and the heavy Brecilian oak swung in. It took everything she had for Anora not to fling herself at the bastard's mistress as the elven mage stepped into the room and gestured to the guards to close the door.

It had only been six months since the Archdemon's fall, but to Anora's consternation, they had apparently been very good to Gwyneth Surana, now Warden Commander of the Ferelden Grey Wardens, and Chancellor of Ferelden. Some of the rumors Erlina had heard were too wild to be believed of course, such as the new Bann of Denerim being an alienage elf, or that the Warden Commander had been granted the Teyrn of Gwaren, _her_ teyrnir, to go with the arling of Amaranthine.

The elf paused to speak to one of the guards, giving Anora time to study the woman who had taken everything away from her. Her braid shifted between dark red and a rich gold blonde as she moved and it caught the light. Her Maker-cursed eyes were still just as unnervingly large, taking the term "doe-eyed" to a new level, and too bright a green to be natural for a human, emphasizing the woman's elven heritage.

What was left of her father's spy network had brought Anora the bits of information that could be found of Gwyneth's origins. She had been a Marcher Dalish infant that Eleanor Cousland had plucked from the wreckage of aravels left behind by a Tevinter slave raid whilst on a trip to the Free Marches.

No one would look at her twice if she were human, but the intense coloring her heritage gave her made her stand out as exotic, if not beautiful. Anora sniffed to herself in disdain. Maker only knew what Alistair saw in her, though Anora had long ago decided it was definitely a testament to his low birth that Surana even drew his eye in the first place. A hint of heat touched Anora's cheeks when she remembered how she had dismissed the elf as a skinny boy the first time they had met; the harsh living had stolen her bosom and hips.

In Gwyneth 's favor, Anora grudgingly admitted, her garb had improved, making it worthy of being in the true Queen of Ferelden's presence. She wore a Warden's gambeson and silverite armor over a mage's robes in the colors of the Grey Wardens; it was a vast improvement over the blood-spattered armor she'd last worn. The sword and shield she would normally wear as an Arcane Warrior had been set aside in favor of a polished staff topped by a milky white crystal. Anora forced herself not to back away, even though she swore the crystal pulsed malevolently at her. _Witch_ … _magespawn_...

Maker, the elf barely came up to her nose, and her Dalish background meant she was leanly built, slender with long, delicate limbs that looked to be about as sturdy as a bird's. The six months of good food, regular sleep, and sitting on her arse in diplomatic meetings had added some curves to fill out the robes, but one sincerely had to wonder how she survived a stiff breeze, let alone the Archdemon, wielding a sword and shield, or Alistair's undoubtedly clumsy, brutish affections. Anora Mac Tir, daughter of the great Loghain, Hero of the River Dane, shouldn't be intimidated by a mere slip of an elf, even if she was a mage, nor would she be outplayed.

"Warden Commander." It was the only title Anora would attribute to the woman. Hero of Ferelden, she was not.

"Mistress Anora." The bitch didn't even have the grace to end her conversation with the guard to address her queen properly!

"That's Your Majesty to you, Warden Commander. Your Highness or Your Grace are also acceptable. Your Ladyship is less so." She wanted to fling herself at the Warden Commander when a flaming brow rose and her too-wide mouth quirked up at the corner. Anora almost missed the flash of sorrow that crossed her features. Gwyneth 's face smoothed, and with a final nod to the guard, became serious and stoic. Ah, there it was again, the flicker of pain in the depths of her eyes.

"Lady Anora, His Majesty King Alistair Theirin of Ferelden has sent me, in my capacity as Chancellor of Ferelden, to inform you that your presence will be required at the palace in four weeks' time. On that day, you will renounce all claims to the throne of Ferelden. When you do so, the teyrnir of Gwaren will be returned to you for the remainder of your life, and a pension befitting the widow of a king will be granted to you."

"Bloody Void I will!" Anora snapped, her temper flaring, "What makes the High and Mighty Bastard and that Cousland bitch he married think I'll give up my rightful title of Queen?"

"Elissa is pregnant."

"What?" Anora felt a cold pit form in her stomach. _No_ … _Maker, please_...

"The royal midwife confirmed it this morning before the coronation. Two months along, and the announcement will be made if everything is still going well on the day in question."

"And how do we know it's the Bastard's? Ser Gilmore is of similar coloring and appearance to Alistair; it could easily be his, especially considering that they've only been wed a month." Recovering from her shock, Anora allowed herself to sneer at the Warden this time. Those in the palace still loyal to her would act. If they had escaped the notice of that Maker-awful cheerful bard, that is. The network her father had set up kept Cailan's whores from humiliating her with bastards for years; they wouldn't fail in this. Anora threw her shoulders back, confident the network had managed to evade the Orlesian tramp. After all, Erlina was able to receive their messages sometimes, limited and sparse on information as they were. She had to get a message to them.

Gwyneth snorted. "You really won't accept that someone else might be better for Ferelden, will you? Ser Gilmore is in Gwaren overseeing the teyrnir while you're here, madam. He has been there for almost five months at my request. I can hardly handle my duties as Warden Commander and Chancellor, let alone Teryna and Arlessa. The child is Alistair's. I... encouraged… him to spend time with Elissa before the wedding."

"I gave everything of myself for Ferelden!. No matter what I did, all Eamon could whisper in Cailan's ear was that I was barren and needed to be set aside." Anora stopped. She had hoped to drum up sympathy with Gwyneth, but all she got was a stony glare. Anora lifted her chin, feeling tears of frustration burning her eyes, but did not let them fall. She had misstepped in attempting to use Ser Cauthrian to get rid of Surana and the Bastard, but she might be able to work the Warden in her favor yet. "Do you know what that's like, Warden Commander? To be judged like that, for something you have no control over?"

Of all the reactions Anora had expected, a bark of bitter laughter was not one. Gwyneth eyed her with disbelief. "Really, Anora? You're asking an _elven mage_ if they know what it's like to be judged for something they have no control over? I'm a _mage_. I was locked up in the Circle for thirteen years of my life for a whole list of sins the Chantry says I _might theoretically_ commit at some point if I don't have a Templar up my ass and around the corner browbeating me with my cursed state every single second of every single day! To say nothing of what people assume of me simply for being an elf! And since I am cursed twice over by circumstances beyond my control, I could not do the one thing I wish with all my heart I could. Instead I am Alistair's dirty secret. I'm his mistress, an elf, and a mage. Thank the Maker Elissa understands. If you were going for my sympathy, Anora, you failed in spectacular fashion. Instead, you just proved to me that I made the right choice when I backed Alistair over you."

"How dare you! I was better at ruling Ferelden than Alistair will ever be! I am as beloved by the people as I love them." Anora stepped forward, using her height to try and intimidate the Warden into backing down. Instead, she stepped forward and kept her tone as calm and as reasonable as she could.

"Really? Do you know what it's like to sleep in a room packed wall-to-wall with refugees? To fill your belly with only a heel of bread and an entire skin of water to trick yourself into not feeling hungry for just a little while longer, knowing you may need to summon the energy to fight a pack of darkspawn on that meager ration? Have you seen what a Blight does to the towns and crofts that aren't saved from the horde? Alistair does, and has, and that means he understands what the people of Ferelden have been through in a way that you never will, beloved or not, and the King and Queen are working to improve their lot instead of playing politics. Tell me, did you do anything when you found out that your father and Arl Howe were selling Ferelden citizens to Tevinter slavers? Alistair was at my side when we ran that lot off from the Alienage."

"My father had nothing to do with that! That was all Howe's doing!" She tried to keep her righteous fury strong. _He wasn't the one selling them, but he knew… and I never asked where the coin came from_.

As if she had plucked the words right from her mind, Gwyneth hissed out, "He may not have been the one taking the coin from the Vints, but he knew where it came from. He knew Howe was jealous of the Couslands. Since Bryce Cousland swore to be heir to the throne if the Theirins died out, replacing Cailan and therefore you, why not accept that he had killed two birds with one stone by ignoring that Howe had slaughtered them all? Rendon Howe was a cowardly, sniveling weasel, and he would not have done it if he didn't believe that there would have been consequences from an angry king."

Shaking her head, Anora turned her back on the Warden, "He did what he thought was best for Ferelden, to keep it safe from Orlais. _I_ am the one who should be ruling. Can you face yourself in the mirror? You betrayed your true Queen."

"The Blight gave him an _excuse_ other than his paranoia about Orlais. He did what he thought would keep you on the throne, and therefore keep him in power by default. And I face myself in the mirror every day." Gwyneth's voice softened, and when Anora turned back to her, she had turned back to the door. "Good day, Mistress Mac Tir."

Anora sat at her desk and waited for the lock on the door to slide home. "Erlina, paper and ink."

Quill in hand, she scribbled a quick order to the one loyal midwife in the palace. She couldn't let Elissa, one time friend and protegee, do this to her.


End file.
